The Substitute
by Barb LP
Summary: He watches them together at the wedding. They make a striking couple, with her long red tresses, his messy black hair and glasses. He knows he shouldn't stare, but it's so hard not to. It's just never a good idea to fall in love with your best friend...
1. Chapter 1

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 **Originally posted:** February 10, 2004 (on FictionAlley)  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic is not related to the _Psychic Serpent_ series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect what I thought was likely to occur in canon, with one or two tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. This is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned (not in this chapter). All five chapters will be posted in very short order.

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 **Chapter 1**

 **Watching**

He watched the two of them dancing closely together. They made a striking couple, with her long red tresses and bright, mischievous eyes, his messy black hair and glasses, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. They especially lit up when he smiled at _her_ ; he had no eyes for anyone else.

However, _she_ wasn't the reason he was watching the pair of them. His eyes followed the black hair on the dance floor, watching his best mate, the man he loved. The best mate who would never know how he felt.

 _Weddings are so depressing_ , he thought, looking around for more champagne. He wanted to be as drunk as possible so he wouldn't imagine his best friend turning away from her, turning to _him_ , his arms sliding around his neck, his lips coming ever closer...

Remus danced by. He was as handsome and laughing as ever. Remus knew how he felt, but had promised not to say anything. Remus had been very sympathetic, but that didn't change anything. Sympathy wasn't going to wrap around you in bed every night, and it wasn't going to walk by your side through life. Sympathy wasn't a substitute for having your unrequited love for your best mate finally requited.

He had watched him for years, surreptitiously, hoping the scrutiny would not, in turn, be scrutinised. He had watched him play Quidditch, zipping over the pitch, his excuse being that _all_ eyes were on Potter. He'd watched him from very close quarters under the Invisibility Cloak as they crept around the castle after hours, risking detention. He shivered, remembering that closeness.

He looked at the Potters again. It was strange to think of them that way. _The Potters._ And someday they'd have children and he'd be a godfather. They'd promised. But that wasn't really what he wanted, though he'd pretended to be flattered about it. Godfather really meant—second-best. A consolation prize. _Did_ he know?

 _Never fall in love with your best friend._

Hermione knew the problem with _that_ one. She and Remus passed again; her voluminous white dress belled out as her groom twirled her, her face laughing until she saw the best friend she'd once loved. He'd once had himself convinced that he loved her too, and had even been jealous of Viktor Krum.

When Hermione saw him, her face clouded over, and he wondered whether he should have come; a bride should only think happy thoughts on her wedding day, after all. He'd made her very unhappy in one way or another for too many years. Was it his fault that Veelas could make men (even men who didn't normally look twice at women) behave so stupidly? All right, he'd looked twice at Madam Rosmerta, at the Three Broomsticks. But she was _practically_ a veela; her very presence in a room seemed calculated to make teenage boys think lascivious thoughts. And was it his fault he didn't immediately think of a nag as his ideal date for the Yule Ball? _Now, now_ , he thought immediately. _That's ungenerous._ Yes, Hermione's nagging had helped him and Harry get through school. Useful, that.

He continued to watch the bride and groom dance. _Remus and Hermione._ It had taken them long enough to get together. She blamed Ron in part, for the amount of time she'd had to take to get over him. It hadn't helped that Remus was grieving over Tonks as well. But after knowing each other for nearly ten years, the two ships in the night had finally come into the same port.

 _You'd think she would have realised, as clever as she is, that I wasn't fighting with her constantly as foreplay._ But she hadn't. She wasn't very adept at seeing what was right before her, sometimes. House elves were one of her notorious blind spots. Ron was the other.

 _Emotional range of a teaspoon, indeed. If she only knew..._

And yet—he couldn't blame her. In those days, even he was still blind to what was really going on. It was Luna who'd awoken him. After he and Hermione had had their great and final row, in seventh year, he'd thought, _I need to be with someone who is Hermione's polar opposite._

No one was further from being like Hermione than Luna, he had thought. And he had been aware of her having spent the better part of his fifth, sixth and seventh years watching him closely. She called him _Ronald_ every time she saw him and tended to go about singing 'Weasley is Our King'. (The good version of the lyrics.) What he hadn't realised was that observation and singing ditties wasn't the same as blind obsession. It was easy for him to be confused about this, as the object of _his_ blind obsession _was_ also his object of constant observation:

 _Harry_.

Luna had known this from the start, when he'd carelessly asked her out. (As if it didn't matter at all: ' _Are you going to Hogsmeade on Saturday? Me too.'_ ) But, being the even-tempered and unflustered person that she was, she had gone along with equanimity. When she had announced to him, on their first date, that she didn't mind pretending to be his girlfriend so no one would know he was in love with Harry, he had had a mouthful of butterbeer, which he promptly spit all over her. Even this she took in her stride, calmly cleaning herself while he sat and watched her, shaken to the core, feeling like _he_ was the one drenched head to foot in a freezing cold blast of naked reality.

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	2. Chapter 2

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 **Originally posted:** February 12, 2004 (on FictionAlley)  
 **Reminder:** This fic is not related to the _Psychic Serpent_ series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect my ideas about what was likely to occur in canon, with one or two tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. Be warned that this is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned (in THIS chapter). Also, in case it wasn't clear in the previous chapter, this is in British English (spellings, grammar, etc.).

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 **Chapter 2**

 **Seeing**

Ron had denied it, of course, which Luna also took in her stride. She told him later that she had thought that the reason he'd broken up with Hermione was that he already knew how he felt about Harry. She had assumed he _knew_. So she decided to go along with the charade, even though her ultimate goal throughout it all was to awaken him to how he felt about Harry, to get him to _see_ it, _admit_ it, especially to himself, even if he never admitted it to anyone else, including Luna.

Luna and Neville passed him now; as she danced with her husband, she gave Ron the same sort of sad look Remus had given him, making him think, _Am I that pathetic?_

 _Yes_ , a voice in his brain told him as his eyes alit once more on Harry and Ginny. _You are in fact just that pathetic._

It didn't help that his worst enemy had also seen his weakness and had exploited it. He tried to wipe the memory from his mind, but a part of him didn't really want it gone, a part of him wanted to treasure forever the image of Harry gazing at him with frank desire in his eyes, Harry kissing him hungrily, taking his and Ron's clothes off, touching him in ways Ron had only dreamed of.

When they'd been close to the end, those green eyes boring into his, so close, the familiar mouth had said, in the familiar voice, "Say my name. _Scream_ my name. Tell me what you feel for me."

And Ron had done it. " _Harry!"_ he'd cried out at the apex of being, of feeling. " _I love you so much!_ " he'd groaned, clutching the other boy's sweaty body, pulling his mouth down for a kiss. Never, in his wildest dreams (and he'd had his share) did he ever imagine this would _really_ happen. Hope was one thing; Ron was, at heart, a realist, and something of a pessimist. And yet, when Harry had first kissed him, Ron hadn't questioned it. He'd just gone along blissfully, living in a dream world, revelling in the feeling of Harry's skin under his fingers, making him produce noises he'd only heard Harry make in his dreams, in his fantasies.

Ron kissed with his eyes closed. He had felt the movement under his fingers, laced in Harry's hair, but until he pulled his face back, gasping from his release, he hadn't been able to see what was really happening.

The pale, pointed face hovered over his, smirking. Ron's fingers were still in his hair, which had gone from pitch black to nearly white. Green eyes no longer looked into his; instead, silver-grey eyes laughed at him, even as Ron pushed him away violently, making Malfoy hit his head on the stone wall. In spite of this, the laughter did not cease.

" _Harry!"_ Malfoy had squeaked, imitating Ron (very badly). " _Oh, shag me senseless, Harry, I want you so much_!" he'd taunted in a falsetto, still laughing. Ron had never felt so much like committing murder, and yet utterly paralysed with fright. _Malfoy knew. Malfoy knew how he felt about Harry._

Malfoy, he realized, was not just getting off from what they'd done together when Ron had thought he was Harry. He was getting off from screwing with Ron's mind as well.

"You actually thought he wanted you?" Malfoy had crowed, almost helpless with laughter.

 _No,_ Ron had thought. _That was actually the last thing I'd thought._

"You know what he's probably _really_ doing right now, don't you? With _her_?" He nodded knowingly at Ron. "They're probably not wearing any more than we are. Do you think she's a screamer? Do you think _she's_ just screamed his name, the way you did? Does it run in the family?" Ron gasped, closing his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to _not_ see this in his mind's eye, to imagine them together…

"Or don't you want to picture your sister shagging him? Do you imagine that he's fantasising about _you_ when he's with _her_? Do you tell yourself that she's just a substitute?" Malfoy smirked. "Speaking of a substitute, I think that the next time I use this potion to be him, I'll pay your sister a little visit instead. Afterward, I can tell you which Weasley screams louder. Or better still, I could be _her_ , and experience something you'll never _really_ know—"

Ron had lost it, simply lost it. Malfoy was in the hospital wing for over a fortnight after Ron finished with him. Ron had been suspended, returning in disgrace to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and he'd lost his position as Head Boy, which had been awarded instead to Harry, whose quick-thinking and _Mobilicorpus_ spell had probably saved Malfoy's life. Ron knew that he'd been stupid, that Malfoy was hell-bent on getting revenge for his father going to Azkaban. He wondered whether Malfoy had actually been trying to get Ron sent to Azkaban, too. If Harry and Ginny hadn't found him beating Malfoy to a pulp, he might have done.

Neither his sister nor Harry ever asked him why both he and Malfoy had been naked.

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	3. Chapter 3

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 **Originally posted:** February 16, 2004 (On FictionAlley)  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic is not related to the _Psychic Serpent_ series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect my ideas about what I thought was likely to occur in canon, with one or two very tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. Be warned that this is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned (last chapter).

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 **Chapter 3**

 **Longing**

"Stop torturing yourself," a voice said close to his ear. Ron didn't need to turn to see who it was; it was the only other person in the world who _really_ knew how Ron felt, who'd been in a similar position. He'd experienced exactly the same thing, with the added torture of feeling responsible for the death of the best friend with whom he'd been in love.

"But it's so much fun," Ron said grimly. A hand pressed against the small of his back, making him inhale deeply through his nose.

"Do you know how many times I stared at _him_ for hours on end? With her? You don't think seeing Harry and Ginny together is like seeing James and Lily again?"

"Yes, but you probably never wondered—or hoped—that he was only with your sister because James really wanted to be with _you_."

Sirius snorted into his drink. "Well, not having a sister, no. And no one was ever going to confuse either me or my brother Regulus with Lily." He glanced at the happily dancing Harry and Ginny. "Harry, on the other hand… I thought I was seeing James again when Harry came to get me."

"You never told me that!" Ron said in surprise, finally turning to look at him. Sirius nodded.

"Well, James was already dead, so it certainly made sense for me to see him beyond the Veil. More sense than seeing Harry. What else was I to think? _Oh, hello, Harry,_ I could have said. _Have you lured any Dark Lords beyond the Veil lately in order to dispose of them?"_

"Well, that's what happened," Ron said reasonably.

"Of course it is. But you understand why I didn't _assume_ that was what happened. And besides, it kills hope, that place." His voice sounded hollow and haunted; if possible, Ron thought he sounded downright cheerful when the issue of Azkaban was raised, as opposed to the time he spent beyond the Veil.

Ron nodded, watching Harry and Ginny continue to dance, wondering how he would have reacted if Harry had gone to the realm of the dead to get _him_ back.

"Come on," Sirius said, his mouth very close to Ron's ear. "Enough wallowing. Let's give our good wishes to the bride and groom and get out of here."

Remus grinned at them both as they approached. "Leaving so soon?"

"You should leave soon as well, Moony," his friend teased in an undertone. "Don't want to put off starting that wedding night."

Hermione flushed. Ron smiled awkwardly at her, his hands in his pockets. She'd confessed to him as recently as the day that she'd announced her engagement to Remus that she'd always thought she'd marry Ron.

He gave her a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek, muttering, "You make a beautiful bride, Hermione. Remus is very lucky."

She had what he thought of as her brave, stiff-upper-lip smile. "Thank you, Ron." She stepped back and took Remus's arm dutifully, and Ron had a moment of doubt. Did she really love Remus, or was he her second choice, a substitute for the one she _really_ wanted?

 _Ah well, I know about substitutes, don't I_?

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	4. Chapter 4

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 **Originally posted:** February 22, 2004 (On FictionAlley)  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic is not related to the _Psychic Serpent_ series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect my ideas about what was likely to occur in canon, with one or two very tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. Be warned that this is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned.

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 **Chapter 4**

 **Knowing**

It had been very touch and go on whether Draco Malfoy was going to press charges against Ron. It hadn't been Ron's idea, the way the problem was solved. He would never have chosen for it to be that way.

Evidently, Madam Pomfrey told Professor Dumbledore that Ron had been raped by Draco Malfoy. She had collected the evidence when she'd cleaned up Ron in the hospital wing. (He was mercifully unconscious at the time.) All that was required after that was a little conversation between Dumbledore and Malfoy, during which the headmaster told him that if he pressed charges against Ron, then Ron would claim self-defense, and Madam Pomfrey would produce the evidence of the rape: Draco Malfoy's genetic material, collected from Ron's body.

Malfoy had immediately dropped the charges and Dumbledore had suspended Ron and stripped him of his Head Boy title. Malfoy had seethed when it had gone to Harry instead of him, since Malfoy had already been a prefect. Dumbledore had even apologised to Ron and told him how reluctant he was to take this honor from him, but he had to, really. Ron had felt like a five-year-old, being told that he was no longer Head Boy. And telling his mum—he never wanted to go through anything like _that_ again.

Remus had made a special trip to the school to try to comfort him when he heard what had happened. He told Ron that that was why he was no longer a prefect after he had nearly killed Snape. It was before seventh year, so he wasn't the Head Boy, but to guarantee Snape's silence, Dumbledore had taken Remus's prefect badge from him and awarded it to James, Snape's rescuer. Snape could hardly complain about that. Would he rather it went to Sirius, who had tried to get him killed? And no one would ever mistake Peter Pettigrew for prefect material.

In the end, Ron was glad it was Harry who was Head Boy. He'd never felt right about being made a prefect in the first place, rather than Harry. Plus, the entire school knew he had beaten Malfoy mercilessly; some punishment needed to be exacted. He was just glad that the real reason he'd attacked Malfoy wasn't common knowledge. Most people assumed that the long enmity between them was enough reason and they didn't delve further than that. Dumbledore, he knew, assumed that it was retaliation for rape, which was why he wasn't terribly hard on Ron, all things considered.

But it hadn't been rape, Ron knew. Not really. Not physically. The rape was all psychological. Malfoy had sullied what Ron felt for Harry. He hadn't violated Ron's body; he had violated Ron's heart.

"So you're both leaving now?" Remus said, slapping Sirius on the back.

"Erm, yeah. Sirius is giving me a ride on his bike. I've had too much to drink; I'd only Splinch myself if I tried to Apparate." And yet, he also hadn't had _enough_ to drink.

Remus let out a loud guffaw. "You might prefer being Splinched to riding on that bike when _he's_ had too much drink. I can't believe you enchanted another one, Padfoot. You're halfway to fifty! What do you think, you're Ron's age? _He_ should have an enchanted motorbike. _You_ should have an enchanted estate car with a wife and several ankle-biters in it."

"I have a perfectly good excuse. Over ten years in prison and a couple of years during which I was actually, well, _dead_. At any rate, it's _Ron_ who's halfway to fifty, Remus. Twice twenty-five is fifty. _We're_ halfway to ninety. Are you going to tell me next that I haven't enough white hair? I'll settle down in my own time. Anyway, you should talk—" he started to say, before freezing. "Oh, Moony, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

A shadow passed over Remus's face; during the Christmas holiday of Ron's seventh year, all of them (save Sirius, who was still beyond the Veil) had attended Remus's first wedding, to the lively and unpredictable Tonks. Sirius's cousin had been one of the first people he'd wanted to see after Harry had brought him back—only to learn that she had been tortured and killed even while he was making his journey back to the living, leaving Remus a widower.

"It's all right, Padfoot," he said somberly. He put his arm around Hermione and beamed at her. "I have some catching up to do in the ankle-biter department myself, but now I'll have a little help with that." Hermione colored again and gave Ron a _look_ that made his heart constrict. He felt for her, he really did. But he was never going to be what she wanted him to be. The Ron of her imagination, the Ron who might have shared her life and fathered her children simply did not exist. She'd never made a real effort to understand him, just as he'd never made a real effort to understand her. They'd been working at cross-purposes for years.

It was a relief to finally leave. Unlike when they'd been to Harry and Ginny's wedding a few years before, they were under no obligation to bid them farewell before departing. Ron risked one more glance over his shoulder before they walked out into the night. Harry and Ginny were chatting with Neville and Luna; Harry was laughing at something Luna had said, presumably, since Neville and Ginny were also laughing, but Luna was not. It was to Harry's face that Ron's eyes were chiefly drawn, however. Behind his glasses his eyes were crinkled with merriment, and Ron's stomach did a flop.

Sirius pulled on his arm, yanking him out the door. "Ron, stop it," he ordered. "Staring baldly like that—what do you think that will accomplish?"

Ron hung his head. "I know. I just—he was laughing at something—"

Sirius was the one laughing now, and Ron's stomach turned over again. He was so close to the laughing face, the dimple in the chin, the dark eyes with that wicked expression behind them. Sirius put his hand behind Ron's neck and kissed his lips lightly, then leaned his brow against Ron's; they were the same height and well-matched physically.

Ron gave him a small smile. "Let's go, Snuffles."

Soon they were soaring through the air, Ron's arms locked tightly around Sirius's waist. He licked the back of Sirius's neck once, when they were coming in for a landing in the scrubby park. He felt Sirius shiver and let out a low moan.

When they had come to a full stop, Sirius turned and effortlessly caught the curve of Ron's lips with his own, his tongue flicking out and immediately met by Ron's. He separated his mouth from Ron's reluctantly, a glazed look in his dark eyes.

"Let's get inside," he whispered huskily. Ron nodded vigorously, making Sirius laugh again for a moment.

"What?" Ron demanded as they dismounted the bike. After putting a Disillusionment Charm on the vehicle, Sirius looped one arm around Ron's shoulders, steering him toward number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"You. Looking so eager."

"I don't mock _you_ for being randy," Ron grumbled as Sirius opened the door and let them into the front hall.

When the door was closed, Sirius pulled Ron to him hungrily; he surveyed Ron's face after breaking the kiss. Now Ron had the glazed look in his eyes. "I'm not mocking you," Sirius whispered, holding him tightly. "You're just so wonderfully _young_ and enthusiast—"

The word was muffled by Ron pulling Sirius's face to his again. Embracing, they staggered down the hall to the foot of the stairs, banging into the troll-foot umbrella stand and sending it over, spilling ancient broken umbrellas and walking sticks onto the floor. Immediately, a shrill cry went up:

" _Blood traitors! Sexual deviants! Sullying the name of the noble House of Black!"_

"Oh, _sod off_ ," Sirius groaned. He turned to Ron with that mischievous grin that made all of the blood leave Ron's brain—not that he felt he had much left there. "We should do it right in front of her—"

"Erg," Ron choked, pulling Sirius toward the stairs. "No thanks. Rather kill the mood, she would."

Sirius laughed as they climbed the stairs. "Don't worry. I was kidding. Well, half-kidding."

As they stumbled toward Sirius's bed, Ron fumbled with his lover's clothes, frustrated, trying to get to his body.

"Which half?" he mumbled vaguely, attaching his lips to Sirius's neck and unbuttoning his shirt after ridding him of his coat and tuxedo jacket.

He never received an answer to his question.

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	5. Chapter 5

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 **Originally posted:** March 7, 2004 (on FictionAlley)  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic is not related to the _Psychic Serpent_ series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect my ideas about what is likely to occur in canon, with one or two very tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. Be warned that this is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned.

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 **Chapter 5**

 **Remembering**

Ron stared at the back of Sirius's head. He'd been asleep, but a screaming drunk passing by the house had awoken him. For a second, he thought that if he reached out to touch the black hair it would be almost the same as if Harry were there with him…

When he did this, however, Sirius's voice asked him quietly, "Everything all right, Ron?"

Ron continued to idly slide his long fingers through the silky black hair. "Mm," was all he could manage. Sirius turned over to lie on his left side, facing Ron, so Ron had to stop playing with his hair.

"I didn't hear what you said."

"There was nothing to hear." Ron sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. During the silence that followed, Ron was aware of Sirius watching him, but he didn't meet his eye.

"Sirius," he said suddenly. "When did you get over him?"

"Who says I did?"

Ron turned his head to look at him. "Are you kidding me? Still? Great Merlin, does that mean I'll still be mooning over Harry in twenty-five years?"

Sirius laughed. "Well—all right. I should say that I don't think about James constantly anymore. I'd go spare. But no, I don't think you'll be as pathetic as me. For a start, you didn't cause Harry's death."

"Neither did you cause his dad's death! You _know_ Harry doesn't blame you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. All right, let me rephrase. Harry's still alive. Your friendship with him wasn't cut off, with no opportunity to resolve—well, you know."

"What do you mean _resolve_? Do you mean—do you actually expect me to _tell_ Harry that—"

"Well," Sirius said, shrugging, "it could help you to move on. Remus knows, you said. Does Hermione?"

"God, no. I don't—I have no idea how to tell her that."

Sirius furrowed his brow. "I can see that would be sticky. Some women like to blame themselves for a bloke fancying men. I have no idea why they'd want to take on guilt that isn't theirs, but there you go. What about Ginny?"

"What about her?"

"Well, she _is_ your sister. Oh, I don't mean telling her that you fancy her husband. Just—you could come Out to her. Of all people, I think Ginny would be very supportive."

"How would you know? And you should talk—Remus knows I'm gay, but he's still expecting _you_ to settle down with a wife and kids."

"No he isn't."

"But—he said—"

"I know. It's a joke between us. He does that because he knows I'm not Out in general. Or maybe he thinks that if he annoys me enough about settling down I'll crack and Out myself, just to shut him up. No, Remus has known about me for years. I fancied him before James, you know. But I never dared say anything about it. And then, when it was my fault that he almost killed Snape—well, let's just say that put a bit of a strain on our friendship. That's how _he_ lost his prefect's badge, after all, and how James got it instead, like with you and Harry. And then James became Head Boy. If it weren't for my stupidity, that could have been Remus. I actually idiotically wondered if that was why Remus turned traitor. Which he didn't of course. I don't know how I could have thought that he was still cross about that, or that he'd carry a grudge so far as to try to get James and Lily killed because James became Head Boy."

"Well, Snape carried _his_ grudge against Harry's dad for years, and acted like Harry _was_ his dad, sometimes."

"Yes, and all of it was my fault." He sighed. "James and I became even closer after that. Perhaps he thought that if he kept an eye on me I wouldn't get into trouble. Can't say that I minded him following me about." Sirius had that lopsided grin that made Ron want to do very naughty things to him. "And when I couldn't take it here at home anymore and just had to leave, and the Potters took me in—well, living with James was a dream come true."

Ron blinked. "Huh. Remus didn't Out you to me. Wonder why?"

"Because he would never betray a confidence. That's not who he is. And the reason that I know Ginny would be supportive if you told her is that _she_ knows about _me_."

Ron sat bolt upright. "She does? You didn't—"

"Why would I tell you to tell her if I already had? I just think—it might help you. There's this wall between you. You can't go on this way." He paused for a moment. "Lily knew."

"Harry's mum? Really?"

"Yeah. She was very understanding."

Ron scrutinized Sirius's face. "Do you think about him often?"

Sirius ran his hand down Ron's chest, smiling slyly, making Ron shiver. "Not as often as I used to, no."

Ron put his hand behind Sirius's neck and pulled his face down to his. He laced his fingers into the black hair, trying not to think of _his_ black hair, _his_ hands, _his_ body. Though Ron knew that Sirius thought Ron had it easier, because Harry was still alive, Ron felt that Sirius had it easier, since he had never slept with James Potter. Because of Draco Malfoy's "prank", Ron had always thought of his first time as something he'd shared with Harry. When he pictured it, he saw Harry's face and body, he heard Harry's voice, felt his fingers on his skin. Draco Malfoy had no place in this memory and had been utterly edited out of it.

"Neither do I," Ron lied, whispering close to Sirius's mouth before pulling him back for another hungry kiss.

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